Song in the Froft-Scene of King WHA ARTHUR. CUPID. AT ho! thou genius of the clime, what ho! Stretch out thy lazy limbs, awake, awake, GENIUS. What power art thou, who from below See'ft thou not how stiff and wondrous old, I can scarcely move, or draw my breath; CUPID. Thou doating fool, forbear, forbear; 2 M GE GENIUS. Great love, I know thee now; Eldeft of the gods art thou: Heaven and earth by thee were made, Is thy creature, Ο N yonder bed, fupinely laid, Behold thy lov'd expecting maid': In tremor, blushes, half in tears, Much, much she wishes, more fhe fears. Take, take her to thy faithful arms, Hymen beftows thee all her charms. Heaven to thee bequeaths the fair, To mourn with her exceeds delight; I HAVE been in love, and in debt, and in drink, This many and many a year; And thofe are three plagues enough, any fhou'd think, For one poor mortal to bear. 'Twas love made me fall into drink, And drink made me run into debt; And tho' I have struggled, and struggled, and strove, I cannot get out of 'em yet. There's nothing but money can cure me, And rid me of all my pain; "Twill pay all my debts,' And remove all my letts; And my mistress, that cannot endure me, Will love me and love me again, Then, then I'll fall to my loving and drinking amain. L ET monarchs fight for power and fame, With noife and arms mankind alarm; Let daily fears their quiet fright, Dif L Diffuafion from Prefumption. ADIES, you that seem so nice, And as cold in fhew as ice, And, perhaps, have held out thrice, One or other may intice, You whose smooth and dainty skin, win; All that gaze upon you Slowly burn 'ere flames begin; TH HEN never let me fee her more! In fome lonely desart-place, Where neither joy nor forrow dwell, On I' On CELIA's Coyness. the quick fpirit of your eye, Or if that golden fleece must grow |